Too Little, Too Late: A Two-Shot Story
by SarahRoseFics
Summary: "It's been years—since high school I've become his slave. I did as I was told, I acted as a proper woman should, and I never talked back; but there's only so much I can take and I've taken enough. I've simply had enough. It's just not worth it." ExB. MA. Abuse, Suicide. NOT A HEA. You've been warned. Read warning inside.
1. Bella POV: Not Worth It

_**-So, this is a two-shot story that's idea popped into my head a few days ago. It's not fluff, and most certainly not sunshine and rainbows. It's pure Angst. The subject matter of the story is rough and just so you guys know—it's **__**NOT**__** a HEA. I repeat, this two-shot story is **__**NOT**__** a HEA.**_

_**-I've decided to step out from my comfort zone with this story. I can read and write a jack-ass Edward who's basically a dick but with time redeems himself and pays his dues. I however can't read or write about an abusive Edward (though I may read to see how things go and if he's just doing it for kicks, I'm out the door). This two-shot story is my **__**FIRST **__**and **__**ONLY **__**try writing an abusive Edward.**_

_**-Hope you guys tell me what you think of it :-)**_

_**-**__**WARNING: **__**This two-shot story deals with subject matter. There will be mentioning of abuse, depression, and suicide. Also, there will be major character death. If it's a trigger, or not your cup of tea—please **__**DON'T **__**read.**_

_**-You can find my stories, this one included on my blog: sarahrosefics . blogspot Remove Brackets**_

_**Too Little, Too Late**_

_**Not Worth It**_

_**Summary:**_"It's been years—since high school I've become his slave. I did as I was told, I acted as a proper woman should, and I never talked back; but there's only so much I can take and I've taken enough. I've simply had enough. It's just not worth it." ExB. MA. Abuse.

**BPOV**

I stared at myself into the mirror—my eyes dull, circled with dark purple bruises from lack of sleep. My hair chopped off after going on a rampage with a pair of scissors to my dead hair. It was already falling from the stress reducing it to half of its original thickness. Depression making me loose weight, almost becoming skin on bones.

_Didn't stop him from pelting my ass and back though._

You see, I'm married to a man named Edward Cullen—whom I was promised to by my uncle the moment I graduated high school. I can't deny the pull I felt toward Edward—with his handsome face, strong persona that demanded respect, or the fact that had a beautiful singing voice. I was attracted to him, and I actually saw him as a refuge from my uncle's abusive hand.

With time—I've fallen in love with him.

_Little did I know that I'd be moving from an abusive hand to another._

Edward was the kind of man you'd call a monster with a pretty face. He'd use his charm, seduction, even love to get what he wants—and he wanted me.

It started senior year when I wanted to spend some time with my then best-friend Alice. Edward has been away to stay with his grandfather for a week and strangely every time he came back he was possessed with anger, fury, and hatred. I somewhat knew that things were rocky concerning his grandfather. Esme, his mother cut all ties with her father for reasons unknown to me and it always brought up a fight between her and Edward whenever he went to visit his grandfather.

So, the day Edward returned from New York I had already made plans to spend the whole day with Alice at her house and maybe go to the movies. Edward wanted to see me that day, for me to spend it with him in his house. I refused, telling him of my previously composed plans.

That's when he hit me for the first time.

It was a slap across the face; the slap was so hard it knocked me down on the floor. I stared up at him in shock, watching as he roughly gripped his hair and started walking back and forth—mumbling to himself about respect, love, obedience, and domination.

After minutes of me sitting on the ground holding my cheek with teary eyes and him pacing back and forth, he suddenly stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then glared down at me.

"You'll do as I say, when I say it, and how I say it—understand? It's obvious I've been lenient on you; I've been way too easy with you. It stops now."

That's when I knew—I'd be an abused woman for the rest of my life.

After that day, I simply shut down. I stopped taking Alice's calls, stopped going out on my own, just stopped living. I merely existed. I was married to Edward the moment I turned eighteen; he didn't even wait until I graduated. His parents Carlisle and Esme were against us marrying at such young age of course but he must have said or done something to have them agreeing. On the wedding day, his grandfather made an appearance. Esme refused to acknowledge him, yelling at Edward for inviting him. Edward yelled back that it's his wedding day and his whole family must be present.

The moment I saw Marcus Platt I knew from where Edward got his abusive and cruel side.

It was written all over his grandfather's face—the hard eyes, the cruel sneer, and the condescending tone toward women.

He was the mentor, and Edward was the student.

So, I moved from my uncle's abusive house to my abusive husband's house. After the slapping incident, Edward never struck my face. Whenever I disobeyed or accidentally talked back, Edward would grab me by my hand, drag me down to the basement and would use his belt or a stick on my ass and back. Not to mention the crushing words of degradation. Always reminding me what a weakling I was, how I'd never stand up to myself, how I'd always be his, how I'd never escape him.

After giving me my punishment, he'd revert into a sobbing little boy—crying his heart out at my feet, apologizing for hurting me, for beating me; for letting his demons take over him, possess him, control him. Every single time.

Then he would carry me to our room, and tend to me as a lover tends to his beloved.

Sometimes I thought he was bi-polar, or even having a case of multiple personality disorder. He was hot and cold at the same time, it was maddening.

He was my angel whenever I obeyed—and then he was my demon when I misbehaved.

He was my prison.

And now, after years in said prison, I've decided to escape.

I sighed, my hand clutching the tool as I walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I went to my desk, sat down, pulled out a paper and pen, and then started writing.

_Edward,_

_I was torn between writing you a letter or not. I could have left you without a note, leaving you to wonder about the reason I did what I'm about to do—but then again you already know the reason. So, I've decided to pour my heart out in my letter._

_When I first met you—I thought you were my savior, my protector, my salvation; only to discover that you __are __my destruction, my undoing, my __end__. I thought you would save me from my uncle's abusive clutches, that you'd snatch me away from my torment, my agony, my suffering. I awoke to the dark truth of your monstrosity. That you were __much worse__ than Phil ever was. At least he never loved me, never cared form me; I was merely a means for wealth—to bring him good money by marrying you._

_You, however—love me. What __kills __me is that you love me. However, you let your demons control you, let them feed off of the light inside of you and turning it into pitch black darkness. You let your demons destroy what little goodness you had left._

_And with it, you destroyed me. You have ruined me, Edward. You have ruined us._

_With every pelt, every time of taking away my right of choice, of speaking up my mind, of freedom—you've stripped away layer upon layer of my soul._

_You have rendered me lifeless._

_With your threats of not having anyone but you, of not having enough money at my disposal to escape you, of literally giving me a daily allowance as if I were a child—fearful of my leaving._

_I was your fucking prisoner Edward, and you were my warden._

_So, as I write you this letter—it's my way of saying goodbye. Goodbye to what could have been the best love of our lives, goodbye to the torment I've suffered at your hands._

_Goodbye to your dimmed light. To your tainted goodness._

_Bella._

I finished the letter, folding the paper in half and writing _To Edward _on the front, leaving it on my desk knowing he'd find it as he always checked my things first thing after coming back home from work, always saying he was making sure I wasn't doing something wrong.

I went back to the bathroom, the tool clutched in my hand as I went straight to the bathtub. Taking off my robe leaving me in my black nightgown, I climbed into the empty tub, laying back and sitting a few moments in silence.

Taking deep breaths, I lifted the blade up, holding the sharp steel to my wrists and in a swift move cut off my wrists. Crimson liquid poured out from my veins as I kept cutting deeper and in a more jagged way, not wanting there to be any way of healing them.

I wanted them cut beyond reason.

I wanted my death to be absolute.

As I lay there, my blood coming out of me in a pour—my life flashed before my eyes.

_My parents' death._

I could hear keys jiggling in a key chain.

_Uncle Phil becoming my guardian._

The front door unlocking and then closing.

_The first punch from Phil._

"Bella." Edward called out my name.

_The many punched and beatings later on by Phil._

"Bella, where are you." Edward calling out my name louder.

_The first time I saw Edward._

"I won't ask again. Where are you?" Edward's now panicked voice echoed through the house.

_Mine and Edward's first kiss._

I could hear rustles in the bedroom—no doubt Edward finding my letter.

_Edward slapping me._

"Shit. Bella, fucking answer me." A scared edge to Edward's voice could be heard.

_Edward becoming my new abuser._

I could hear the bathroom door opening.

_Every single kiss, every loving touch from Edward as I obeyed him._

"BELLA! NO!" I heard Edward scream, but it was as if I was under water.

_Me finally deciding I've had enough._

"Oh God, what have I done? Baby please don't go." I felt strong arms holding me, firm hands putting towels on my wrists and squeezing, no doubt trying to stop the bleeding.

"Dad, please help. I need an ambulance at my house now. Be—Bella killed herself. No, she's still breathing but it's weak. Please hury dad." He stopped talking for a moment and then yelled, "I don't have time for your scolding right now. Bella doesn't have time for it. Just—pl—please help!" his voice shook. Was he crying?

"Oh my God, what have I done? It's my fault. All my fault. I'm sorry baby. I'm so fucking sorry." Edward was rocking me, back and forth. Back and forth.

I could feel my soul leaving me, my body tightening and then releasing and then—

There was nothing.

It was like an out of body experience. I was floating in the air, looking down at what was happening. I watched as the EMT's busted through the bathroom door, with Carlisle on their heels. I watched as Edward kept shaking me, screaming my name over and over again—telling me not to die. "Don't you dare fucking die on me, Bella. I'll be good, I fucking promise you. I'll make it all up to you. Just don't leave me." He screamed.

Carlisle pulled him away, restraining him as the paramedics did their job. After what felt like an era, they announced me dead. I stared at my lifeless corpse, a small smile on my dead lips as if it knew I'd be free.

Edward screamed again, falling to his knees and sobbing at my dead body. Carlisle had tears streaming down his face as he spoke on his cell-phone, no doubt telling Esme and the others of what happened.

But it didn't matter.

I was free.

I was finally free.

I floated up, out of the house and up to the sky. Watching as a white light beaconed for me to approach it. A grin broke across my face when I saw my parents smiling at me.

"We're finally together sweetheart. You're finally here with us. Forever." My mother cooed.

"Nothing and no one would ever separate us again Belly." My dad grinned, using his pet name for me.

I went to my parents' embrace and together, we floated above.

…to heaven.

_***Sniff. Sniff* Love it? Hate it? Undecided? Let me know.**_

_**Chapter 2 will be up in 2 days. It will be EPOV and will explain his past.**_


	2. Edward's POV: All Is Lost

_**-Here's Edward's POV. **__**WARNING: **__**There will be mentioning of abuse, suicide, and death. It it's a trigger or not your cup of tea, please don't read.**_

_**-This is my FIRST & ONLY writing of an abusive Edward. And the ONLY NON-HEA I EVER write.**_

_**-My blog where you'll find this story and my other one "In The Name Of Love":**_

_** 2014/05/too-little-too-late-1-not-worth-it_ **__** ~~~~Remove Brackets.**_

_**-My FB:**_

_** .com(/)SarahORose1988**__** ~~~Remove Brackets**_

_**-BTW, ITNOL will be updated Monday June 10**__**th**__**. I'm busy right now with RL and barely had time to write this Two-Shot. I wrote it in fear of forgetting it and never getting my ideas back.**_

_**Too Little, Too Late**_

_**All Is Lost**_

**EPOV**

_**Five years later…**_

Snow and leaves were crunching under my boots as I walked through the gravestones. My right hand carrying a bouquet of flowers, while my left hand was holding a bottle of scotch.

It's been five years.

Five years since she killed herself.

Five years since I opened my.

And five years since I've been living in hell.

Willingly.

It still feels surreal—that I've lost her. I'm not stupid; I knew deep down that she'd someday leave me. Escape my clutches. My torment. My abuse.

I just never thought she'd end her life all together.

It still feels as if it were yesterday or even just now when I've found her—bloody, passed out and deathly in our bathroom. I can't explain the feeling I had when I saw her. It was like someone was ripping my chest open with a chainsaw, reaching in, squeezing my heart and then ripping it out, while I was still alive.

The way her skin felt cold to the touch—ice cold, her weak pulse, and her blue lips paralyzed me. I could only think of one thing and one thing only.

_It was all my fault._

What I've put her through was exactly the same thing I've been through.

Only worse. I loved her. I love her still after all these years and I'm the reason she'd dead.

Marcus was the means indirectly, but I was the reason.

What he's done to me, what he's spent days and years yelling at me was ingrained, carved into my very soul it turned me into a monster. I was the lion who attacked its trainer, the dog who bit his owner's hand—the husband who killed his wife.

Tears streamed down my cheeks and as always I let them. They were of no use but I couldn't seem to be able to stop them. They were a way to mourn her loss, her death.

I know I have no right to mourn her as I'm the reason she's lying six-feet-under, but I just couldn't help it.

As I walked toward her grave, at the memory of her death I always reverted back in time.

To her funeral.

_**~Five years ago~**_

I was on autopilot. Numb. Not feeling a damn thing. Not the icy weather, not the rain falling on me, not even my tears mixing with the rain. I could hear my mother Esme weeping and sobbing beside me, her hand clutching mine as she said with her sobs what she couldn't say from the force of her grieve.

_It was her fault._

I told her that it wasn't. That **I **was the one to blame. She disagreed.

_"If only I've snatched you sooner."_She'd wail. **"**_If only I've never sent you to him."_She'd scream. _"None of this would've happened. You wouldn't have turned into an abuser just like him, and Bella would still be alive."_

Her words were always like a punch to the gut, but she was right about one thing.

_He was also to blame._

Marcus. My grandfather—whom was the epitome of abuse.

Not only that, he was also a killer. He actually killed his wife. Esme's mother. My mother.

Just because she tried to get away.

Well, guess I turned into him after all. I may not have slit Bella's wrists, but I sure as hell drove her to do it.

_It all started when I was ten years old. It was the first time for me to see my grandfather. I knew my grandmother was dead, and that my mother's relationship with my grandfather was rocky at best. But one day, my parents sat me down and informed me that my long absentee grandfather was coming to see us, to see my mother—to see me._

_It turns out that he used to abuse my grandmother physically and mentally while only abusing my mother mentally. When Esme was fifteen, her mother died. She was coming back home from the supermarket when a masked man jumped her and literally beat her to death._

_No culprit was caught and the case was closed. Esme by then was hateful of Marcus, but after grandma Jane's death he seemed to draw in on himself and stopped all together the abuse he subjected Esme to. Despite his gentleness towards her, she didn't believe him._

_**And she was right. As he found another source to abuse. His whores.**_

_At eighteen she met Carlisle while in school. They married within a year's time and she became Mrs. Cullen. Besides her love for my father, the marriage was a means of escaping Marcus for good._

_Little did she know he'd come back. For her son._

_So, when I got to know him he suggested I travel to him once a month. My mother of course didn't agree. I was almost eleven by then and she wouldn't let me fly on my own since she's sworn off New York. So, Marcus being the manipulative fuck he is he rented a house two hours away from us and would always bring me to his place._

_The first beating was the day after my eleventh birthday. He told Esme and Carlisle that he wanted to see me because he had another birthday present for me._

…_and what a present it was._

_It was the first time he hit me. The first time he lectured me on how to be respectful._

_The first and last time he threatened me that if I spoke of what he did, he'd do it to my mother._

_Me being the stupid, naïve, and scared little boy obeyed him without question. I took whatever he gave me, fearful he'd do it to my mother—especially when I once heard her and my father talking about the abuse she and grandma went through with him. At first, I felt a shrug of anger toward her for letting Marcus getting to me, but the way she said he'd changed since she was fifteen she thought he had really changed._

_Only she didn't know…it was all an act._

_So from eleven to fifteen I was only abused mentally and physically by beatings._

_On my sixteenth birthday, it became sexual._

_Not by him, but by his whores._

_He showed me how to fuck, how to control women in the bedroom, and how to dominate them._

_Me being a sixteen year old virgin, with my hormones running haywire, no matter what I thought my dick had other ideas._

_His bitches were always ones who BDSM pain sluts, who could take pain and get off on it._

_I can't forget my first sexual experience with Carmen._

_She was a pain slut._

_A submissive to older men and dominant to younger ones—like me._

_As much as I hated it, I couldn't control my body. So as she sucked me off while Marcus fucked her from behind I couldn't help but come. She was a pro with her mouth and being a teenaged virgin didn't exactly help matters._

_It became worse when she fucked me. She never bottomed to me, always being on top. Riding my cock, using and abusing it to the point of agony till I screamed for her to stop._

_Marcus would slap me across the face when I would scream or beg for them to stop. He'd tie me up to the headboard and set back and watch as she fucked me—sometimes even getting himself off on it._

_That was the time I really broke. That I became Marcus's slave. That years later, despite my hatred for him I couldn't stay away. I couldn't wipe him out from my life, from my memories, from my mind._

_I was trapped by his abuse. By his monstrosity, not knowing that slowly but surely I was turning into him._

_So, as he kept abusing me, only now with words and a slap here and there instead of pelting—I'd let out my anger, hatred, and frustration of his whores—and mine._

_I'd fuck his bitches whenever he brought them over; with Carmen being the only dominant I was able to dominate the other women. I'd fuck them doggy style, by the wall from behind, and any other position except for missionary and cowgirl. As fucked up as I was, missionary for me was reserved for love and cowgirl was female domination._

_And knowing that I'd never fall in love and never let another woman dominate me I became the man with the upper hand._

_So, I'd fuck his bitched only to return home and fuck mine._

_Fucking. Fucking. And more fucking._

_Until I've met her. Pure and innocent, loving and tender, kind and selfless._

_My sun and moon. My heart and my soul._

_My Bella._

_The moment I laid my eyes on her I knew, I just knew she was the __**one**__. That I'd love this girl for the rest of my life. That I'd do whatever it took to make her happy._

_So many promises I've given her and I've broken them all._

_I tried hiding her from Marcus—even when she'd call me as I was visiting him I'd always put my cell phone on silent until he'd move away to another room and I'd text her that I was busy with him._

_For a year I did a pretty good job hiding her from him, and Esme still not on talking bases with him unless it was a phone call once a month when I'd go see him, he was left in the dark._

_Or so I thought._

_My breaking point was my senior year, when I went to visit him and found two of his whores at his house. He told me to fuck them, stating that it's been a while since I fucked one of his girls and now as an apology he brought me two—can you believe it?_

_That was the first time I said no. And the last time._

_He became pissed off, kicking the girls out and giving it to me. He told me that he knew about Bella, that he slipped a sleeping pill in my drink the last time I was over and he went through my cell phone. About how beautiful Bella was, how innocent looking._

_How submissive she looked._

_I warned him to keep her out of our shit and he answered with the worst kind of answer._

_That if I hadn't treated her like he's treated me, he'd pay her a special visit himself and show her what a real man was like. That he'd enjoy fucking her while I watched, and that she'd become a greedy horney slut so much he'd take her to New York and have her work the streets, pimp her out for other men to roughly fuck her. He even threatened me to sell her off to a dominant who only works on pain sluts. That he'd train and break her until she begged for mercy. Until she became a pain slut herself._

_It was the first time I hit him. A punch to the face that sent him to the ground. I told him I'd tell on him and what he'd done, that I'd tell the cops on him._

_He laughed in my face, promising that no one would believe me and go against a prestigious man like him, a business man who donates to charities and pays many bills, writes hundreds of checks and everyone aspires to become._

_I threatened I'd tell Esme. He said he's do the same to her, kidnap her and sell her off. He even went so far as calling her a MILF—that many men would like to tap that ass of hers. So sexy despite being in her forties._

_I felt like throwing up because I knew he'd do it._

_He'd find a way to know and he'd fucking do it._

_I was trapped. I was disgusted. With him and myself for what I was about to do._

_His hold on me was like an iron clad; unbreakable. Inescapable._

_When I returned to Fork, it was the first time I ever hit Bella._

_And it wasn't the last._

_His abuse turned me into a monster. I know I could've taken her and ran away, or even not pay heed to Marcus' threat—but I didn't._

_I used and abused her. Forced her to do as I say, whenever I say, however I say._

_She became my broken submissive, and I've became her destructing dominant._

_And it cost me her._

So the first time I attacked Marcus and nearly beat him to death was at Bella's funeral. He showed up, uninvited, and the gleaming look on his face said it all.

He knew this would happen. He knew I'd suffer for the rest of my life.

He knew Bella would kill herself to escape me.

So I attacked him, like a wounded animal. Delivering a punch after punch until Carlisle and others pulled me away from him. I was screaming profanities at him, howling that it was his fault for turning me into a monster. For making me abuse my wife.

For killing her.

_**~Present Time~**_

So now, after five years of her death I still suffer. And I welcome it. I embrace my suffering for what I'd done.

I believe it's Karma or poetic justice since it had already reared it's ugly head at Marcus.

A mere month after Bella's funeral, there was a home invasion at Marcus house. Three burglars broken into his house, beat him to a bloody pulp, and stole all his expensive possessions and the thousands of dollars in his safe.

The justice thought came in the form of physical deformity. His face was beat up so bad it became deformed and the way his head was bashed in made him in need of care 24/7.

He's now rotting in a house for the elderly, with nurses wiping his shit and feeding him with a spoon.

I don't feel sorry for the fucker. He got what he deserved.

Just as I'm getting mine.

I reached her grave, more tears falling as I stared at the big picture of her beautiful smiling face. It was a rare picture when she looked happy after our marriage. I picked it specially to be her tombstones picture.

I wanted to torment myself with her smiling face, knowing that I was the cause of diminishing it.

I sat on the snow, not caring that my ass was freezing under my jeans and coat. I put the flowers on her grave while I started drinking.

That's how my life has been since her death. I'd visit her every Sunday with a white, pink, or red rose in my hand to put on her grave; and I'd visit her grave on the anniversary with a bouquet and a bottle of scotch.

My social life became non-existent. My mother would visit me everyday, and my father would accompany her once a week. I cut all ties with my friends or more like they cut me off.

I only had my parents, my house and memories of Bella, and my grieving.

Suddenly, there was a slight storm. The wind picked up and the snow flew around me.

That's when I heard it.

_"Edward."_

It was a soft, melodic voice whispering my name. I looked around me but found no one.

I must be losing my mind. Serves me right.

_"Edward."_

The voice spoke again, loudly this time.

I looked around me and nearly got a heart attack when I saw her.

My angel. My beauty. My wife.

My Bella.

She stood in front of me, a few yards away from her grave. She looked deathly pale, wearing a flowing white dress—her hair flying with the wind. I could see a white halo over her head, like a crown. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

And then she smiled.

I blinked, and then she vanished—only to reappear again, sitting by my side.

"Bella?" I croaked, my throat tight with emotions. She smiled sadly and nodded.

I slowly raised my hand and touched her cheek. I felt even more coldness on my skin but I didn't care because she closed her eyes, sighed, and leaned into my touch.

"I'm so sorry Bella. So sorry baby." I sobbed, watching as her eyes reopened and looked on sadly.

"I know you are Edward, but it's too late. I'm already dead."

"Yes. You are. And it's all my fault."

She said nothing. Only staring at me with sad eyes.

"W—will you stay with me? Just for a little while?" I asked, more like begged. She nodded sadly, her hand touching mine and moving it to her lips. A tear fell as she tenderly kissed the palm of my hand.

"I've never left you Edward. I may not have forgiven you but I've never left you. Maybe I'll forgive you, maybe I won't. Only time will tell."

_Yes. Only time will tell._

_**The End**_

_**Whew. That was some hardcore angst, yeah? What do you think of it? Love it? Hate it? Let me know.**_

_**For those who might think it's a HEA for Edward since Bella's spirit showed up, it's NOT a HEA. Bella didn't forgive Edward and she might never do. Edward will keep on living in loneliness, solitude, and grieve over Bella's death. Her confirming her being undecided on forgiving him gives him even more pain to suffer.**_

_**~Sarah~**_


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